


litany (for the things we said in gold)

by theprophetlemonade



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (did I just write a fic without using the angst tag?), (shocking), (well more like Alec decides he wants to propose), Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Humor, Intimacy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Zine: All That Glitters Is Silver, canonverse, zine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprophetlemonade/pseuds/theprophetlemonade
Summary: ["He’s not wearing his ring again. It makes Alec smile, a tiny enamoured thing that tugs and pulls at a body made soft by longing. Alec reaches out and gathers up Magnus’ hand in his, quietly encircling his fingers in a lax grip. He presses a kiss, and then another for luck, upon the back of Magnus’ knuckles, but he doesn’t wake, and Alec’s smile turns errant."]Or: in which Magnus is trying to give Alec a hint about wanting a certain piece of jewellery for his collection and Alec is just Not Getting It. (Alec keeps noticing one of Magnus' rings is missing and Magnus just wants Alec to pop the question.)





	litany (for the things we said in gold)

**Author's Note:**

> Over the summer, I was lucky enough to be chosen to write for the upcoming Malec zine, [All That Glitters Is Silver](http://maleczine.tumblr.com). It was a fun challenge - having to write to a 2000 word limit (which ya'll know I STRUGGLE with) and write something that could be adapted into art too. I worked with the amazingly talented [Rel](https://twitter.com/glitterandtrash), who produced some beautifully charming accompanying images for this fic, which you will be able to see together in the finished zine. Honestly, the whole thing looks spectacular - there are a lot of beautiful pieces in this zine and I'm so humbled to have been a part of it. And thank you everyone who funded our Kickstarter! I really appreciate it and my appetite for zines has been officially whetted ... hopefully I will do more soon!
> 
> Big thank yous to everyone (Immy, Mag, and Michael) who helped beta and proofread this piece! 
> 
> The title of this fic is derivative of "A Primer for the Small Weird Loves" and "Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out", two poems by my boy Siken, in his collection Crush. Siken writes of love and romance in the most visceral and erotic way, and whilst this fic is the furthest thing from violence, I'm forever inspired by that same poignancy, eloquence, and strength of feeling; every word that Siken writes feels like a crucial moment. In truth, Siken changed the way I string words together, so if you haven't read Crush yet, SON WHAT U DOIN 
> 
> Anyway, here is something short and sweet and indulgent. Magnus keeps """losing""" the ring on his fourth finger. Alec's not getting the hint. Come on, Alec. Marry the man already.

"He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand."

— Richard Siken, _Anyway_ / _The Worm King's Lullaby (Verse 5)_

 

* * *

 

 

It starts with a ring. Or, really— the lack of a ring.

The night is smudged and inky blue beyond the windows of the Institute, and it’s late enough for Alec’s concentration to be wavering. Piles of paperwork just aren’t as riveting as Magnus working silently in the background of the ops room, weaving magic between his fingers as he patches up the wards.

It’s the movement of his hands that catches Alec first: the elegance, the poise, the tactile curl of his fingers as he charms the blue glow of magic across his knuckles, coy power crackling in his fingertips. The skittering sparks dance across Magnus’ initialled signet rings, and it’s then that Alec notices that his fourth finger is … well, _bare_.

It’s not usually bare, and, being as in-tune with each and every detail of Magnus as he irrevocably is, it strikes Alec as something peculiarly out of place.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a few days for Alec to say anything — and Magnus says nothing at all — but the curiosity does get the better of him.

He’s slumped on the couch, sinking ever deeper into the pillows and throws as his worn-out muscles turn to liquid, when Magnus presents a glass of wine over his shoulder.

“ _Mm_ ,” Alec murmurs, unable to summon more words. He takes the glass from Magnus and their fingers brush, and it’s just enough to give Alec pause.

Magnus floats around the side of the couch, his own glass in one hand and, with a powerful snap of his bare fingers and a burst of blue sparks, the uncorked bottle in the other. Magnus holds the bottle up to eye-level, inspecting the label, drumming his long fingers against the neck. The ring on his forefinger clinks against the glass.

Alec inhales slowly from his own glass — the bouquet is sharp and slightly acerbic — but it’s not enough to tug his attention from Magnus’ hands. Alec’s eyes quickly flick back to his fingers as Magnus hums, satisfied, and banishes the wine bottle into thin air.

“You’re not wearing your ring,” Alec says, matter-of-factly. Magnus’ eyes flick to him; Alec’s face warms, caught off-guard. He points clumsily at his own ring finger. “On your left hand. You’re missing one.”

“Huh?” Magnus says, holding up his hand to the low, late-night light, eyebrows raising as if he’s surprised to see his ring finger bare. “Oh. Yes. I lost it.”

Alec narrows his eyes.

“How did _you_ lose a ring? Can’t you just … magic it un-lost?”

“I can only summon it if I know where it is. Otherwise it wouldn’t be lost to begin with.”

Magnus runs his fingertips over the shell of his ear, toying with his ear-cuff in that way that he does when there’s something he doesn’t want to admit, but that he still wants Alec to guess.

Alec, of course, has had a fair bit of practice guessing over the years, but sometimes he’s still a little stumped.

“You’re funny,” he says, flat. The corner of Magnus’ mouth trips upwards into a smile, but he hides it deftly behind his wine glass.

 

* * *

 

 

Alec looks everywhere for the ring. He likes having a project, and things have been quiet at the Institute as of late and there’s only so much trite paperwork he can bear.

He half expects to find the missing ring flung beneath one of Magnus’ bookshelves in the apothecary from a spell gone too haywire, or perhaps stashed in the place where the Chairman steals away all of Alec’s socks (which Alec is yet to find).

So, it comes as a surprise, of course, to find the ring sat atop the pile of rejects in Magnus’ jewellery box upon the vanity in their bedroom.

It’s just … there, glinting up at Alec with some sort of goading tell, winking at him in the moonlight that creeps in through the bedroom window. Alec stares at it for a long while before he grabs it in his palm, the metal cold, and marches immediately into the apothecary where Magnus is working late into the night on a potion.

Magnus’ focus is on his flask, meticulously decanting something pink and luminescent with the steady tap of his fingers, but he smiles when Alec appears in the doorway, something he just can’t help.

Carefully, Magnus taps the last few drops out of his vial and into the flask, and the potion pulses with a quixotic, purple glow, illuminating Magnus’ face as he crouches to observe it from eye level. It makes the cuff on his ear glint and the necklaces looped around his throat sparkle, but it’s not what Alec is really looking at.

“I, uh —” says Alec, looking down at his hands and rolling Magnus’ ring between his fingers. “I found your ring, by the way.”

“My ring?” asks Magnus, indifferent. “Which ring is that?”

He tilts his head, inspecting his potion, and then a quick and succinct nod determines that he’s satisfied. He clicks his fingers and summons a cork stopper into his hand, fitting it in the neck of the flask and banishing it to God-knows-where.

Finally, he looks up at Alec, and there’s a glint in his eyes that his gentle smile doesn’t betray. His shoulders sway as he crosses the room, eyes dragging up from Alec’s belt, his chest, lingering at the base of his throat, until he meets Alec’s curious eyes. He splays his left hand flush against Alec’s swiftly warming skin and leans in for a peck, but Alec holds up the missing ring between them.

“Yeah,” says Alec. Magnus raises his eyebrows as Alec’s eyes dip down to his lips, and Alec frowns at his own willingness to be distracted. Magnus curls his fingers into Alec’s shirt, picking at the fabric. “The one you lost? It was in your jewellery box, just sitting there.”

“Oh,” says Magnus. He smiles, but it’s not quite right, like he’s not really happy to see it again, pinched between Alec’s thumb and forefinger. “Were you looking for it for me?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus hums, cupping his palm in front of Alec’s chest expectantly. Alec hesitates a moment, before dropping the ring into Magnus’ hand.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says, “You really shouldn’t have.”

 

* * *

 

 

The ring is missing again by the next day. Alec squints at Magnus’ bare finger as he swans around the kitchen, cooking breakfast, and then, once he leaves for his morning client, Alec rushes to the jewellery box, but it’s not there either.

Clearly, it’s been banished. Or, maybe Magnus _is_ just that forgetful about where he leaves his things, and this is what people mean by living with someone long enough to start seeing their bad habits come crawling out of the woodwork, but —

Alec highly doubts that. He ruminates over it all day, and when he comes up with no answers, he decides to corner Magnus over dinner.

“I don’t like any of the ones I have at the moment,” Magnus explains, unreadable.

Alec frowns.

“Well, can’t you just summon one you _do_ like?”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hands forming brief churches around the words he searches for but doesn’t quite find — and yet Alec sees speckles of them in his tucked-away smile and in the honey dark of his eyes. He stares inscrutably at Alec, endlessly amused by something Alec cannot pin-point.

“Yes, well —” he says eventually, before the chirp of his cell phone distracts him. He twirls his pointer finger at Alec, and Alec goes cross-eyed. “— hold that thought.”

The sentence is never finished.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun rises with the tardiness of a man blessed with a rare Sunday: early dawn light slips through the slats in the blinds, meandering around the bedroom with all the time in the world, red and gold and softer pink, and it warms Alec’s eyelids.

He’s already awake — the curse of an internal clock — but the syrupy warmth of the duvet and the press of a thigh up against his pulls him under, smothers him in doziness. The bedroom smells of old smoke and jasmine rising from incense burned the night before; Alec hums.

On the pillow beside him, Magnus shifts, a low murmur whispering through his lips in peaceful sleep, his brows furrowing with just the hint of a far-away dream to which Alec longs to be privy.  

Alec rolls onto his side, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. Magnus’ soft breath stirs the air — Alec feels it gently lapping against his jaw — and his fingers twitch in the valleys of the pillow.

He’s not wearing his ring again. It makes Alec smile, a tiny enamoured thing that tugs and pulls at a body made soft by longing. Alec reaches out and gathers up Magnus’ hand in his, quietly encircling his fingers in a lax grip. He presses a kiss, and then another for luck, upon the back of Magnus’ knuckles, but he doesn’t wake, and Alec’s smile turns errant.

The morning hums with the sanguine warmth of a city basking in a long-craved dream of peace, and Alec lifts Magnus’ hand to catch the light, the gold refracting off the silver on Magnus’ index finger, splitting into a sanctimony of colours, red and yellow and violet across the pillow and the bridge of Alec’s nose.

He cups Magnus’ hand in his and runs his fingertips over the knuckle of Magnus’ bare ring finger. The skin is soft but not pliant, and nor is it stained with that curious copper-green colour that sometimes comes from Magnus’ other rings and which fascinates Alec so. It’s only been a few weeks, but Alec already misses the ring, the indentations it would leave on Magnus’ skin, the way it felt against the inside of Alec’s knee or the slope of his throat.

He still doesn’t know why Magnus has decided to abandon it. Maybe Alec should buy him a replacement? He did like the old one — there was some elegance about it, a little more understated than some of Magnus’ signets — but the thought of Magnus wearing something of Alec’s choice, something a little more _Alec_ himself, fills him with a strange sort of flutter.

The thought comes to him with far too much dalliance, a slow and lazy realisation that doesn’t click for a moment, allowing him to bask.

_Mundanes swap rings when they want to get married._

He runs his fingers over Magnus’ ring finger again, his _ring_ finger, imagining a band of narrow of silver — or maybe gold would look better, for an engagement? Alec likes simple jewellery, but maybe a stone would be nice, something dark and opalescent, that would go with Magnus’ jackets. It would need to be timeless. He’d have to ask —

 _Oh_.

Alec’s hand stills, and he just holds Magnus’ fingers aloft in the air for a dawning moment, a little bit in awe of himself.

The thought doesn’t surprise him. It hasn’t arrived out of nowhere, and perhaps it’s been holding its breath beneath his diaphragm for some time now. It doesn’t feel wrong. What feels _wrong_ is Magnus’ finger being so devoid of a ring, but maybe Magnus would want —

_Maybe that’s exactly what Magnus wants._

Curiously, Alec glances across at Magnus, only to find Magnus staring back at him, one eye cracked open, his head on the pillow, his hair an imperfect mess. There’s amusement cradled in his eyes, tender and devoted, as his gaze flicks to Alec’s hold on his ring finger, only to return to Alec’s face.

“Morning,” Alec says, hoarse. He lays Magnus’ hand back down in the space between them with an awkward little pat, and Magnus’ mouth lifts at the corners, as if he can read Alec’s innermost thoughts in the sunlight that spills across his face.

“Good morning,” Magnus replies, running his thumb and the tip of his ring finger together. Alec fights the heat that blooms in his face with a grin that won’t be smothered.

Magnus holds his gaze, unwavering.

“See something you like?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! Let me know your thoughts in a comment below, and please leave a kudos if you made it to the end. What sort of ring do you think Alec should get Magnus? Or Magnus get Alec?
> 
> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://the-prophet-lemonade.tumblr.com) for more similar nonsense. Inbox is always open and I take prompts! 
> 
> I'm also very active on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bootheghost). I also have a new Malec longfic on the immediate horizon, which is shaping up to be a (300,000+ word neonoir superhero) doozy, so please keep an eye out! 
> 
> Lastly, please go check out the rest of the beautiful zine pieces, which will slowly be appearing on [All That Glitters Is Silver](http://maleczine.tumblr.com). If you've ordered a copy of the zine, I hope you're just as excited as me to see the final version!
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
